


Baking and Skyping and Texting

by Pippitypopadoo



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 08:13:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4297293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pippitypopadoo/pseuds/Pippitypopadoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I HOPE HE TRIES BAKING AND SKYPES BITTY EVERY TIME SO HE CAN HELP HIM. PLEASE WRITE IT PLEEEEEASE" - Shlee</p><p>In which Jack has a sudden SOS, they banter and this Skype thing's pretty fun.</p><p>Set just a week or so after Jack and Shitty's graduation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baking and Skyping and Texting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shlee87](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shlee87/gifts).



> I said I would "write a drabble or something" and here it is!! Sorry it took a while, thanks for waiting hehehe
> 
> I know very little about baking and have never baked a pie before, but I tried my best.

> **Jack** : _Are you busy?_

Eric stared at the message curiously as he gave the kitchen counter one last wipe, finally done with meeting his Sunday baking quota. There it was again, bubbling up inside him, a feeling he knew all too well - a feeling he’d tuck away quietly in a corner of his heart whenever Jack was his good Canadian boy self and offered to go groceries shopping with him or agreed to accompany him for coffee or even so much as smiled as him. Eric darted a quick look over his shoulder, just to make sure he was alone. He already knew his house was empty save for him, and maybe suddenly being self-conscious was strange. After all, it’s not like Jack had never texted him in school, but… They’re in their separate homes now, with Eric down in Georgia trying to enjoy the summer while it lasted and Jack no doubt enjoying the cooler weather in Montreal, probably having conditioning and workouts and all that stuff future NHLers did.

They’re at home now, and it just feels different, y’know?

> **Me** : _Nope! Just done with baking actually, what’s up? :)_

He leaned back against the counter and tapped his thigh. Watched his phone, then slipped it into his pocket to pick back up his rag and rinse it under the tap. There was a very distinctive pressure against his butt that he couldn’t seem to ignore as he waited for his phone to buzz.

Eric wouldn’t say that he dropped the rag back down when his phone alerted him to new messages. Besides, no one else was here to contradict him.

> **Jack** : _I need your help_
> 
> **Jack** : _With baking_

Eric huffed a breath, half in disbelief and half in delight. He’s gonna, oh, he’s definitely going to screenshot this. _Jack_ was asking him for _baking advice_. This boy was never going to stop surprising him.

> **Me** : _!!!!! :D No problem, let me get to my room and you can skype me!_

\---

Jack had a streak of flour on his left cheek and another smeared onto his chin, with more dusting his fringe. The apron (was that a Penguins logo, good lord) over his henley shirt was probably going to be a nightmare to wash, but at least Jack had the good sense to roll up his sleeves.

He looked… He looked good, like he hadn’t changed much. Which was silly to think, when they’d all seen each other just a week or so ago, but with how things were, Eric no longer knew how long it’d be before he’d see Jack again, and not just through hockey articles or coverage on TV where it’s impersonal and the man himself far away, and-

“... and the crust sinks but there are also these tears? Or cracks, I don’t know what you call them?” Jack was saying, frustration laced through his voice. He sounded strange through the speakers, but it was unmistakably his and still ranked just below Beyoncé and his mama on the voices he most liked to hear.

“Show me?”

While Jack was turned around to bring his pie over for inspection, Eric got a better view of the kitchen for the first time. It was a pretty sweet  set-up, with the pots and pans all neatly hung to the side and, gosh, a full set of knives on the knife rack besides a refrigerator far larger than the one on the Haus or his home, and-

Jack moved away further away from the view of the camera and Eric slowly blinked as he took in the mess of flour and brown bits on the kitchen counter.

“Oh. Oh, my word, _Jack_.”

“What, what’s wro- oh. Umm.” He bit his lips, looking at Eric uncertainly before his eyes darted away.

“Which kitchen god have you displeased?” Eric asked in dismay, not sure if he should be laughing or crying, or maybe both. One that was best friends with a hurricane god, probably, because it didn’t seem like anything but a tornado could do deal such damage and disarray. Until Jack came along, evidently.

With expression that could only be classified as an embarrassed scowl (and Eric was very nearly distracted from the catastrophe that Jack was not-so-subtly trying to block with his body, because he’d never seen Jack’s face do that before), he said flatly, “I panicked.”

Eric cocked his head. “Panic? About what?” Baking was, simply put, an art of putting the right things together into a tin and then leaving it in the oven for a pre-determined time. It was hardly a race against time that putting a meal together could be.

“My…” His eyes darted from camera to somewhere offscreen and then back. “My mother came back earlier than I expected, and I didn’t...  I was using a hand mixer and I just...“ he paused, then gave Eric the saddest and most confused face he’d ever seen. It gave him urges to hug the man in the screen right now, but thankfully they were in two separate countries. “I don’t know either,” Jack ended lamely, raising a shoulder with a despondent shrug.

Eric was proud to say that not a facial muscle of his twitched. “Ah,” he said, giving his best understanding nod.

Personally, he found the mental imagery of Jack being thrown off by his mother returning to find him being all domestic strangely adorable. The desecration of the holy grounds that was the kitchen was less so, of course, but that wasn’t his kitchen so Eric could let it pass. Jack was a novice after all, and even the best people have their flaws.

“Let’s start with cleaning our working area, shall we?”

\---

“... And four to six tablespoons of water, that’s for the pastry,” Jack recited, because of course he would memorise the first recipe he was trying out. His kitchen was much tidier now, with Eric supervising the cleanup. As his mama had hammered into him as a child, a tidy kitchen and a clean work area was the most basic requirement that had to be fulfilled before any kind of cooking can take place. It’s not just because of hygiene too; “Cooking comes from within, and the environment can influence our moods, and therefore our heart and soul. This will be reflected in the food you create,” Eric had lectured as Jack listened patiently, nodding along (and not even condescendingly either, Eric really did lo- like him. He’s a good man, this Jack.) while dumping the remains of his failed cooking attempt into the bin.

Now, they were going through the recipe for pie that Jack had wanted to bake - a maple-apple pie (and Eric wasn’t even surprised by that choice) - and Jack was showcasing his fantastic memory.

“Then for the filling, the recipe said five medium tart apples, half a cup of sugar, three tablespoons of butter-”

“Wait, what kind?”

Jack looked up blankly. “What?”

“What kind of sugar?” Eric repeated. He had a bad feeling when Jack blinked at him.

“Aren’t they all... the same?” he asked uncertainly.

Eric cringed. “Bless your poor naive heart.”

\---

“ _It's been a long day without you, my friend/And I'll tell you all about it when I see you again_ ” played softly on Eric’s laptop as the pastry that Jack had prepared under Eric’s critical eye chilled in the refrigerator. Eric swayed slightly to the beat of the song, head pillowed on his arms while his eyes trailed Jack’s movement on the screen.

“Why’d you decide to bake anyway?” he asked at the end of the verse.

Jack looked up from whatever he was scribbling onto a notebook he had grabbed earlier. “Mom’s birthday coming up, thought I might try making her something, since we’d done that pie for class and all.”

“Oh?” Eric lifted his head. “When’s her birthday?”

“It’s still a while away, but I’d be in Providence soon so…” He shrugged.

Right. Providence. Eric lowered his eyes and breathed a sigh into his arms.

The familiar beat of Halo started playing and then Jack was saying, “Oh, isn’t that the Halo Halo one, the one you always sing… Who’s that singer, Beyond?” so Eric reminded himself that Providence was an easy drive away from school, before looking straight into his webcam and giving Jack his deadest deadpan look in the history of people who would very much like to hit someone but was too emotionally exhausted to.

“I cannot _believe_ you,” was all he said.

“Oh, did I get it wrong again?” Jack asked, pulling his eyebrows together, and Eric raised his eyes heavenwards.

“‘ _Did I get it wrong again_ ,’ the boy asks, ungrateful for all the time and effort I put in to give him a proper education. The cheek he has, as he blasphemies the queen of the modern age, the queen we need but don’t deserve.” Eric tossed his head back and flung an arm dramatically over his eyes. “I have failed the world,” he mock-whispered sadly.

He could practically hear the eye rolling that Jack was giving him right now.

“Don’t you roll your eyes at me,” Eric warned.

Jack chuckled. “You peeked?”

Eric dropped his arm in indignance. “Of course not! Do you lack faith in the strength in which your judgement rolls across the land all over from Canada?”

“And here I thought you only leave your dramatics for your cooking videos, but major you should have found your calling in theatre instead?” Jack said with a grin, cocking a hip against the kitchen counter.

Eric was not going to be so easily thrown off by Jack’s boyish charms though, and he narrowed his eyes. “First, I am _appalled_ by that suggestion, y’can’t be serious- I don’t even have the words right now. Secondly, I resent that accusation, I’m not dramatic! I just have, y’know, strategic voice inflection. Helps me communicate my messages across effectively.”

“If your voice is so good, maybe you should sing instead of rudely talking over Beyoncé then.”

“I wasn’t…” Eric paused, then looked incredulously at his monitor, at how Jack was definitely trying to look impassive, but really he was not succeeding because the corners of his lips were curled up, just slightly but definitely there. “You!”

Jack smiled at him, stupidly handsome face smug. “Yeah?”

“You sneaky little- I cannot believe you!” Eric said, not even bothering to mask the delight colouring his voice.

“Like you’d forgive me if I didn’t remember her name,” Jack replied easily, as casual as could be. “Go play that song again, I missed it because of you.”

Eric dutifully restarted the song, and they fell into a companionable silence after that. It couldn’t be very nice to listen to music playing through Skype, but Jack never complained about it. Eric thought to pull up twitter to tell his followers how utterly awful Jack was for fooling him, but then changed his mind almost immediately and settled his head back on his arm instead. He listened to Beyoncé belt out the chorus as Jack sat opposite him, messing with his notebook as they waited for the pastry to be done chilling.

\---

“Layer the apple slices evenly, so that you minimise the air spaces in between and the steam won’t push the upper crust up later when it’s baking.”

Bent over his pie, Jack stopped every once in a while to eye his handiwork critically, as if he was still on the ice and thinking up plays. It was all going great, and Eric was content to watch quietly.

Maybe it’d be nice to do this more often.

\---

“... for another twenty minutes, and then you leave it on the rack to cool for at least two hours once it’s done, and that’s basically it!” Eric finished as he watched Jack slide the pie into the oven.

“That’s all?” Jack asked, eyebrows drawn in as he squatted down to examine his pie baking, back to the camera. Eric's eyes flicked down to the narrow stretch of skin that peeked through from under the shirt when Jack leaned forward.

“Yep! You can say it’s… as easy as pie,” Eric said, smiled winningly. Jack side-eyed him over his shoulder, an eyebrow arched, and Eric laughed.

“Hey, you’ve got…” Eric trailed off as Jack turned around, raising his hand to the screen before he even realised what he was doing. “Umm. Flour. On your cheek. Again,” he finished lamely, making an aborted gesture at his face. Hopefully the burning he felt on his cheeks didn’t show up on Jack’s pixelated screen.

“Oh.” Jack tipped his head down slightly, hastily wiping it away but somehow only managing to smudge it. Eric grinned.

“And now you look like you powdered your face. Good job, Jack!”

Jack frowned. “I just want to look beautiful, is that so wrong?” At that straight-faced delivery, Eric lost it, slapping the tabletop.

“Sure,” he finally breathed out, after his laughter had died down. “You should go check in the mirror and make sure you applied your makeup evenly then. Don’t think you can go debutante ball just yet.”

“Nah, it’s called a beautillion ball for males.”

Eric giggled, because of course Jack would know that.

“Hey, Bittle?”

“Yeah?”

“That was… that was kinda fun, eh?” Jack said, smiling slightly.

It seemed out of a blue, but Jack looked so soft just then, standing in the middle of his kitchen and looking at Eric through his screen with a pleased expression. Eric’s breath caught in his throat at the sight. “Yeah,” he stammered, when he finally got his voice to work. “Yeah, it was.” He gave a small smile back, and they watched each other for what seemed to stretch beyond the few seconds it must have been.

“Thanks, Bittle,” Jack said finally, looking directly into the camera. “For your ex-pie-tise.”

Eric froze, stunned. As what Jack had deliberately very carefully enunciated slowly sunk in, he shot forward and gripped the edge of his table. “ _Oh my god Jack Zimmermann did you just-_ ”

“Bye Bittle, have a good summer,” Jack said loudly over him, a large grin on his face, and then Eric’s left gaping at his Skype chat window as Jack hung up on him. That bastard.

Eric huffed out in disbelief, and then it turned into giggles that morphed into full blown laughter.

Good lord, this boy.

\---

> **Jack** : [file attached: image49913913] _I guess you aren’t too bad as a teacher_
> 
> **Me** : _Looks great! And hey, I am an excellent teacher!!_
> 
> **Jack** : _Don’t think I can in good conscience say that from just one lesson though_

Eric blinked, fingers hovering over the keypad. He slowly typed in “Are you saying” and then hastily deleted it.

To Jack: If that’s how it is, then I’m never teaching you the Bittle secret pie crust recipe!

Perhaps it was better to keep it open ended for now. But wait, didn’t that already make Eric himself implying that they’ll be doing this more-

> **Jack** : _Oh, how will I ever forgive myself for letting that slip past my fingers_

… On a side note, Eric was of the firm belief that people just didn’t appreciate Jack’s brand of humour enough.

> **Me** : _Your loss! :D_

Jack didn’t reply after that, and Eric focused his attention back to the cat videos waiting for him. He had the strangest bereft feeling that it wasn’t Jack who’d let an opportunity pass by him.

\---

That night, just as Eric was finishing up with filming his a new entry for his vlog, his phone buzzed with an incoming message.

> **Jack** : _Mom said the pie was good. So thanks, again_
> 
> **Me** : _:) No problem at all, Jack! Was happy to help :) :) :)_

Eric squinted at his phone, drumming his fingers lightly on the desk, and then decided, might as well.

> **Me** : _You gonna continue baking?_

He wasn’t holding his breath, Jack was going to busy with all his camps coming up anyway and-

> **Jack** : _Maybe, don’t see why not_
> 
> **Jack** : _It’s not bad. But probably not doing it as a serious thing like you_
> 
> **Me** : _Yeah, that makes sense. You’re gonna be busy soon anyway :(_
> 
> **Jack** : _You should be glad though. If I got serious, you’d have to watch out for yourself_

Laughing, Eric fired back his reply:

> **Me** : _Those are some pretty ambitious words eh hahahahaha_
> 
> **Me** : _I DIDN’T TYPE ‘EH’ YOU DIDN’T SEE THAT_
> 
> **Jack** : _Haha_

And that, he knew, was Jack’s equivalent of true laughter in messaging, so Eric just grinned, grabbing his pillow and hugging it between his chest and knees as he replied.

> **Me** : _Anyway, who do you think you are, to go against me? I’ve got two words for you, Zimmermann: NO CHANCE._
> 
> **Jack** : _Sure I do, once you tell me about your ‘secret pie crust recipe’_

Wait. Is that.

> **Me** : _Why the ‘ ’? You make it sound like it doesn’t exist! I’ll have you know that it is a true Bittle legacy. It’d be a treasured heirloom if it had a physical form_
> 
> **Jack** : _I’ll have to determine that for myself after you teach it to me though, can’t just take your word for it now, can I?_

Oh. This definitely. Oh.

> **Me** : _Welllll, that’s only if you accept that I’m the best baking teacher there is!!_
> 
> **Jack** : _We’ll see_

Eric smiled.

> **Jack** : _I’ve gotta head to bed now_
> 
> **Jack** : _Good night, Bittle_
> 
> **Me** : _Good night, Jack :)_

**Author's Note:**

> This is the [recipe](http://www.bettycrocker.com/recipes/maple-apple-pie/cb3930a7-09c8-4cb4-8a4f-e5b576d0faf3) that Jack used, I've no idea if it's actually any good haha


End file.
